


Of Love and Children

by AlsyWalsy



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 15:36:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20509376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlsyWalsy/pseuds/AlsyWalsy
Summary: Aziraphale's musings on Crowley and children, set during their time as Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis.





	Of Love and Children

**Author's Note:**

> It's been months since I wrote anything and Good Omens is just so good that I had to try.  
I have been struggling with this thing for weeks and it's not exactly what I wanted it to be, but I am quite happy with how it turned out. I hope it's enjoyed!

There are many things that Aziraphale knows about his demon. For starters, Crowley adores keeping up with recent fashions and trends; whether that trend is ridiculously tight jeans or those terrible tight curls in his hair. He is also quite partial to a decadent chocolate dessert, though he would never admit it aloud. 

He also knows that, since the early times, the old serpent had worked hard to keep up appearances and hide his sensitive underbelly from prying eyes. And yet, to Aziraphale, Crowley was remarkably transparent. It was almost as though the demon forgot to keep his guard up around him. He supposed that after knowing each other for so long it was only to be expected. 

Still, it warmed his heart to hold the trust of such a wonderful creature, intentional or otherwise.

For all his insistence to the contrary, at the centre of it all, Crowley has a good heart. His temptations are borderline harmless. Never once has he raised a hand against him - an angel - his hereditary enemy. Instead, on several occasions, he had gone out of his way to help and had even saved him from inconvenient discorporation. And he has an incredible capacity for love for all of God's creatures.

Well, perhaps love was too strong a word. And perhaps not all creatures. 

Ducks had proven to be a Crowley favourite, despite his penchant for attempting to drown them when in a particularly bad mood. There was also that one incident with the grass snake, but Aziraphale has been sworn to secrecy on pain of no more dinners together. Of all of Her creatures, Crowley shows the most kindness and compassion for children.

The small humans were - in Aziraphale's opinion - Crowley's greatest weakness.

The demon has often insisted that his interest in the creatures comes from their tendency to be agents of chaos, answering only to their own free will and mercurial whims. Aziraphale rather fancied he knew him better than that.

Crowley has an intense curiosity about him that is often mirrored in human children. They are always asking questions; wanting to know about anything and everything. Across 6000 years together, not once had he seen Crowley deny a child's request. In fact, the demon's softness for children has been evident since very early in their relationship. His outrage at the Flood which would kill so many innocents.. 'you can't kill kids'.

Watching Crowley now, sitting beneath a tree in the impeccably manicured Dowling estate, Aziraphale was reminded of those early days. Young Warlock had taken quite the shine to his strict nanny, and there was no denying that Nanny Ashtoreth had taken a shine to the Antichrist. Crowley tried to deny it - insisted that he was only doing his job - but Aziraphale had seen the warm smiles. He could quite literally feel the affection pouring off the demon whenever the boy was around.

As it was, the young lad was currently running across the lawns, stopping every few moments to pluck a daisy from the grass. Nanny's close gaze and gently twitching fingers betrayed the miracles that were no doubt producing only the best flowers for his charge. After gathering a handful, he returned to where Crowley had set out their blanket and busied himself making a daisy chain. 

The plan that morning had been to trim the hedges with as few miracles as possible, but something more interesting had presented itself and Aziraphale couldn't quite find it in him to turn back to work. How could he when Crowley was removing his hat to allow Warlock to bestow him with a daisy chain crown. Another wave of affection poured from the demon as his painted lips quirked up in a smile.

Crowley was beautiful when he smiled.

A proper smile - a genuine display of warmth and affection - not the smirks or half smiles he usually hid behind. Such smiles caused all sorts of fluttering in the pit of his stomach. The warmth he felt was not a new feeling, but the desperation and longing it caused definitely was. The feelings were so strong that he could feel the aching in his physical heart, despite the fact he didn't need the thing. 

His pesky human body seemed to have a mind of its own. His pulse was quite happy to start racing whenever Crowley was around, even skipping the occasional beat when their eyes met. Aziraphale had read enough romance novels to know what these symptoms all pointed to, but he was uncomfortable even allowing himself to think of it. Crowley was too distracting, too perfect, too-

The steady, and admittedly rather slow, clipping of the rose bush came to an abrupt halt as a short, sharp pain shot through his hand. A small squeak escaped the angel, who briefly broke his gardener facade as the tip of his thick glove started to turn a deep crimson.  
Tugging the glove off revealed a deep gash across the pad of his finger. 

When had he last suffered anything worse than a papercut? It must have been several decades, at least. He prided himself on keeping his corporation in tip-top condition, even if it was a little softer than his higher-ups might approve of.

"Brother Francis!" A young voice shouted out across the garden and, seemingly in the blink of an eye, the young boy had materialised at his side. Surely the boy didn't have teleportation powers yet. Right?

"You're bleeding."

"So I am, Master Warlock. You needn't worry, 'tis only a scratch." 

Trust the young lad to embrace his heavenly influences at one of the most inopportune moments. He could easily miracle the cut away, but not under the watchful eye of a highly inquisitive six-year-old. The last time he had attempted a small miracle in Warlock's presence he had been trying to explain away the magically reappearing rhododendron for weeks.

A drop of blood took its chance to break free and dripped to the grass at their feet. When Warlock noticed this, the boy turned to give the rose bush the biggest kick he could muster without falling into it face first. Aziraphale very nearly rolled his eyes. Crowley. 

"When I hurt myself," The boy looked up from giving the greenery a good old glare. "Nanny kisses it better."

"She does?" If Warlock noticed the slight waver to his voice, he didn't comment on it. He just chattered on happily as any young child would.

"Yeah, like last week, when I fell over-"

The words were entirely lost on Aziraphale, who had zoned out at this point. It was no secret that Crowley had a soft spot for children, but the idea of the wild old serpent planting a gentle kiss on a young boy's knee? His own knees felt weak at the thought and he thanked whoever was listening that he had chosen to give his current appearance ruddy cheeks. 

"Warlock. You aren't helping Brother Francis, are you?" Just how did Crowley - Nanny - manage to be so stealthy in those shoes, anyway?

"He hurt himself, Nanny. I was just saying that you always take care of my cuts and bruises." The boy looked only slightly guilty at being caught doing good.

"Of course, dear, that's what nannies are for."

Aziraphale watched the exchange in silence, eyes flicking back and forth between the pair. The flower crown remained on Crowley's head, the hat still abandoned beneath the tree. Somewhere along the line, he had forgotten about the blood drying on his hand.

"Will you take care of this cut?" Small fingers took hold of his hand to show the still oozing cut to his Nanny. Young Warlock had no idea that there wasn't a gardener on Earth whose hands were that soft.

"There really is no need, I promise-"

"Oh dear," Crowley's touch was incredibly gentle as he cradled the injured hand in both of his. He positively cooed over him. "You poor thing."

Aziraphale's mind went blank. 

Completely and utterly blank.

Over the course of six millennia, he could count the number of times Crowley had purposely touched him on one hand. Two at a push. This was nothing like any of those previous touches.

Deceptively soft, warm hands cradled his, igniting spots of pure fire where their skin met. Briefly, he wondered if this is what hellfire might feel like, but the excited tingling in his stomach was back with a vengeance. One thumb stroked tenderly across his palm, a perfectly manicured nail lightly scratching his skin. Aziraphale couldn't tear his eyes away from the demon, even as the hand was lifted close to his face for inspection.

"You really should take better care of yourself, Brother Francis," The tone was soft but scolding and Aziraphale felt his cheeks burning again. His corporation was determined to misbehave, it seemed. "This could have been much worse."

"A-as I said, my dear-" He paused, pale eyes wide. "Lady. 'Tis only a scratch, nothing to worry about."

"Hmm, I shall be the judge of that."

Out of nowhere, Crowley produced a black handkerchief, edges lined with the most elegant lace. He made a show of wiping one corner against his tongue - that clever tongue - to dampen it before tenderly wiping away the blood. Dark lips made a series of tutting noises and his gaze was locked on them. 

What would those lips feel like on his skin? Would they leave behind dark smudges of lipstick? Not likely, knowing Crowley. His makeup would always remain perfect.

"There, all cleaned up." The handkerchief disappeared as easily as it had appeared, but strong hands kept their hold on his.

"Thank you, you are too kind."

"Ah-ah. Was I finished?" One perfectly groomed eyebrow lifted and Aziraphale's gaze was pulled back to dark lenses. He could feel Crowley's gaze on him and he wished, not for the first time, that he wouldn't wear those infernal glasses all the time. 

He wordlessly shook his head and allowed the demonic nanny to do exactly as he wished. 

His world had condensed down to the being in front of him. Warlock was long forgotten; the boy had gone back to tormenting the bush, anyway. Nothing outside of a soft touch and dark glasses filtered through. 

With the tiniest smirk curling his lips, Crowley leant forward and pressed the most delicate kiss upon the small cut. Aziraphale could feel the power as it touched him, spreading through lips into flesh, knitting it back together. If only he could pretend that the warmth spreading through his entire body was part of the miracle.

"All better. You should be more careful, just in case I'm not around the next time."

Crowley went so far as to take the glove from his other hand and held it out to help. Feeling incredibly dumb, Aziraphale shoved his hand in the offered glove and blinked a few times. It was no longer damaged or stained with blood, but he didn't notice, how could he notice. 

"Come along now, Warlock, let's leave Brother Francis to his work. It will take a miracle for him to finish all these hedges before tea time."

Crowley gently patted his charge on the head and the boy happily trotted off, giving Aziraphale a big happy wave. Aziraphale, who was still staring somewhat dumbly at Crowley, trying to will his brain back into functioning.

"Careful, dear," Crowley's hand gently patted his cheek. "One might think you have a crush if you continue to stare in such a way."

With a beautiful laugh, he sauntered away, and Aziraphale was convinced that his hips were swaying a lot more than they usually would.

Yes, Crowley loved children. 

And, God help him, Aziraphale loved Crowley.


End file.
